THE  IMMORTALS 


BY 

MARTHA  PERRY  LOWE 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE   IMMORTALS 


BY 


MARTHA  PERRY  LOWE 

Author  of  The  Olive  and  tbt  Pine,  Lwe  in  Spain,  Chief 
Joseph,  Bessie  Gray,  etc. 


The  Botolph  Book  Co. 
BOSTON 


COPYRIGHT    1899 
BY    MARTHA    PERRY    LOWE 


All  Rights  Reserved 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Walk  toward  Emmaus 7 

Scheffer's  Dante  and  Beatrice 7 

Charlotte  Bronte 9 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 9 

Chatterton 1 1 

Shelley IZ 

Schubert 13 

James  Russell  Lowell 14 

Sleepy  Hollow 1 6 

Edward  Rowland  Sill 17 

Anna  Cabot  Lowell 1 8 

John  S.  Dwight 19 

William  Ellery  Channing ZO 

Phillips  Brooks zi 

Julia  Romana  Anagnos zz 

Lucy  Stone Z3 

The  Portrait  of  Colonel  Shaw Z4 

Lucy  Larcom zj 

Charles  T.  Brooks z6 

Lucretia  Crocker 28 

James  Walker 29 

William  Henry  Channing 30 

Mary  Foote 31 

In  Memoriam 3Z 

Abby  W.  May 34 

Charles  Lowe  Damrell 35 

Whittier 36 

Charles  Lowe 37 

Mary  White  Foote 38 


7  / 


904114 


THE  WALK  TOWARD  EMMAUS. 

WALK  with  us,  Jesus,  when  the  day  is  spent. 
The  robin's  voice  is  full  of  tenderness, 
And  all  the  air  is  silent  with  excess 
Of  sweet  devotion,  peace,  and  calm  content. 
Open  our  eyes,  that  we  may  see  aright 
The  scripture  of  the  world,  the  burning  page 
That  shines  upon  our  path  from  every  age, — 
A  warning  fire,  and  now  a  tender  light, 
Revealing  glimpses  of  the  immortal  throng. 
Ask  us,  O  Jesus,  if  we  understand 
The  wondrous  voices  of  the  sea  and  land, 
As  thou  didst  them  who  read  the  prophet's  song, 
And  knew  not  him,  their  blessed  risen  Lord  ! 
Read  thou  with  us  thy  Father's  hidden  word  ! 


SCHEFFER'S  DANTE  AND  BEATRICE. 

T  7  PON  the  summit  of  celestial  joy, 

^      Which  doth  begin  and  end  in  peace,  she 

stands, 
And  reaches  out  to  him  her  blessed  hands. 

The  peace  that  groweth  with  the  pains  of  earth 
Was  hers,  and  now  the  joy  of  purer  rest, 
The  peace  that  sinketh  deeper  in  the  breast. 

She  whelmeth  all  his  soul  in  tenderest  awe 

And  most  unutterable  reverence  : 

He  gazeth  breathless,  lest  she  float  from  thence. 


SCHEFFER  S    DANTE    AND    BEATRICE 

"O    woman!    freshening    presence!    far    more 

sweet 

Than  the  celestial  gales  to  pilgrim  given 
The  flutter  of  thy  garments  throughout  heaven ! ' ' 

She  raiseth  up  her  finger  in  rebuke  : 

"  Thou  must  not  look  for  me,  but  higher  light, 

Else  will  the  Father  veil  me  from  thy  sight. ' ' 

And,  oh  !  she  looks  so  far,  so  far  beyond, — 
An  everlasting  vision  floating  lies, 
Mirrored  within  the  azure  of  her  eyes. 

He  bows  his  head  upon  his  ardent  heart  ; 
He  calms  it  with  a  spirit  struggling  yet, 
And  stands  subdued  before  the  Infinite. 

She  watches  him  with  parted  lips,  and  smiles  : 
He  looks ;    he   catches  quick   the   gleams    that 

play 
Around  her  mouth  ;  and,  lo!  she  soars  away. 

"  O  Love  supreme,"  he  cries,  "  thou'rt  all  in 

all! 

Yet  thou  hast  deigned  to  robe  thyself  for  me 
Within  her  angel-like  humanity. 

"  Then  bid  this  most  tumultuous  spirit  lean 

Upon  her  calmness  :  so  together  we 

May  go  up  to  the  heavenly  mount  and  thee." 


CHARLOTTE  BRONTE. 

T  SEEM  to  stand  upon  Life's  very  verge  ; 

•1      I've  traversed  all  the  experience  which  it 

brings  : 

I  am  not  old  ;  but  I  have  seen  all  things. 
Strange    waves    have    swept    my    youth    with 

whelming  surge, 

And  washed  it  bare  of  all  illusions  sweet, — 
Even  as  the  ocean-rock  stands  bleak  and  cold, 
Her  young  green  moss,  and  pebbles  all  of  gold, 
And    rainbow  shells,   swept   off  by  tides    that 

beat. 

I  will  not  be  like  that  gray  rock  at  sea! 

My  rainbow-hopes  I'll  bring  from  out  the  deep, 

And  lay  them   where  Life's   floods  can  never 

sweep  : 

Though  now  my  soul  is  sad,  my  hair  is  gray, 
New  life  shall  dawn  again,  my  soul  shall  be 
All  young  and  blooming  for  Eternal  Day! 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

/~^i  ENTLE  woman,  softly  as  the  spheres 
^-*      Move  along  the  solemn,  mystic  years, 
Thou  didst  tread  thy  early  path  of  tears. 

Whispering  yearnings  from  thy  spirit  deeps, 
Like  a  hidden  mountain  stream,  that  creeps 
Darkly,  secretly,  before  it  leaps  ; 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING 

Sobbing  lightly  with  its  own  unrest, 
Groping  blindly  on  the  cold  earth's  breast, 
Sinking  downward,  weary  and  opprest. 

Lowly  bent  the  world  its  waiting  ear, 
For  that  undertone  it  loved  to  hear, 
Listening  with  a  strange  and  charmed  fear. 

How  at  last  the  fountain  leaped  in  light, — 
Leaped  with  sudden  joy,  impassioned,  bright, 
When  its  son  of  love  arose  in  sight! 

Fondly  did  the  souls  of  men  outreach, 
Drinking  in  that  lyric  burning  speech 
When  two  poets  melted,  each  in  each. 

Then  in  wider  music  they  did  break, — 
Music  strong  and  grand  enough  to  make 
All  the  powers  of  wrong  and  evil  shake. 

Sing,  immortal  woman-poet,  sing, 

Where,  with  Dante,  thou  thy  harp  shalt  bring, 

On  the  sacred  mountains  of  thy  King! 

Love,  undying  heart!     Thou  hadst  not  beat, 
If  thy  fragile  pulses  were  not  sweet 
With  a  love  thou  couldst  not  all  repeat. 

Rest,  elect  and  Christian  lady,  rest! 
Where  the  saints  and  martyrs  stand  confest, 
Thou  shalt  be  forevermore  a  guest. 

Peace  a  halo  on  thy  brow  s.hall  drop, — 
Peace,  the  perfect  fulness  of  thy  cup  ; 
Peace  that  ever  bears  thee  higher  up. 


CHATTERTON. 

POOR,  wild,  and  wayward  boy! 

*•   The  cold  world  praised  : 

His  heart  it  raised, 
And  yet  it  could  not  give  him  bread. 

His  soul  drank  deep  of  joy, 
But  his  frail  body  must  be  fed. 

All  day  he  laughed  and  cried, 
While  visions  fair 
And  fancies  rare 
He  wakened  from  the  ancient  scroll, 

Till  with  fond,  secret  pride 
He  saw  his  counterfeit  outroll. 

What  marvellous  work  was  this  ? 
The  scholars  read, 
And  then  they  said, 
"  Who  brought  these  things  to  light  of  day  ? 

Oh,  what  a  bliss,  what  bliss, 
To  cheat  such  learned  men  as  they! 

Then  fairest  Love  came  next, 
To  fill  his  breast 
With  sweet  unrest 
And  longing  for  divine  repose  ; 

But  pinching  hunger  vext, 
And  on  the  full  world  careless  goes. 

Now  his  short  tale  is  told, 
His  wondrous  skill 
All  ears  doth  fill. 


CHATTERTON 


But  does  it  bring  to  him  a  name 

Or  even  paltry  gold  ? 
Only  the  critics'  taunt  and  shame. 

Come,  sovereign  healer,  Death, 
And  ease  his  pains, 
And  bring  thy  gains  ; 
For  now  the  gentle  player's  art 

Revives  his  fading  breath, 
And  lays  him  on  the  nation's  heart. 


SHELLEY. 

ORARE  and  evanescent  spirit  bright, 
Ev'n  as  the  firefly  skims  along  the  night, 
Men  saw  thee  floating  as  a  silver  spark, 
Then  thou  didst  vanish  sudden  in  the  dark! 

Could  not  thy  gods,  who  ever  on  thee  smiled, 
Have  shielded  thee,  their  strange  and  wayward 

child,— 

Thee  with  the  dew  of  morning  in  thy  hair, 
The  future  mirrored  in  thy  forehead  fair  ? 

Yea,  verily  there  is  a  God  in  heaven  : 
To  know  him,  unto  thee  it  was  not  given. 
He  yearned  to  draw  thee  to  his  mighty  breast, 
And  soothe  thy  weary,  fluttering  heart  to  rest. 


SHELLEY 

Could  he  forget  the  soul  which  he  had  made  ? 
So  fair  a  soul  could  he  have  e'er  betrayed  ? 
Ah!  he  was  kind.      He  stretched    his  arm    to 

save, 
When  men  were  cold  and  cruel  as  the  grave. 

He  laid  thee  in  thy  loving  ocean's  arms, 
Wrapt  thee  in  joy,  amid  the  wild  alarms, 
Rocked    thee  to   sleep,  then  gently  bade   thee 

wake, 
And  of  another,  higher  life  partake  ! 

How  softly  drooped  thy  starry  eyes  away, 
And  closed  forever  on  the  southern  day ! 
How  swift  thy  subtle  spirit  darted  free, 
And  drank  immortal  love  and  liberty! 


SCHUBERT. 

T>EAUTIFUL  spirit,  immortal  in  birth, 

-O     Where  dost  thou  dwell  in  the  realms  of 

the  air  ? 

Art  thou  not  free  from  the  burden  of  earth, 
Soaring  in  visions  of  harmony  there  ? 

Spirits  of  light  and  aerial  grace, 

That    float    on    the    wavelets    of    odor    and 

sound  : 
They,   too,   could   look   not   the  world  in  the 

face, 
When  by  the  laws  of  mortality  bound. 

'3 


SCHUBERT 

Now  they  are  growing,  and  bask  in  the  sun, 
Breathing   their   songs   with    the    odors    that 
rise. 

Perfume  and  music  are  blended  in  one  : 
Is  it  the  flower  or  the  music  that  sighs  ? 

How  they  came  forward  to  meet  him  above, — 
Schubert,  the  lonely,  the  shy,  the  untamed! 

Pressing  upon  him,  melodious  with  love  ; 

He  overwhelmed  with  delight,  and  ashamed. 

"  Beautiful  angels,  I  enter  your  rest ; 

Suffer  me,  spirits,  to  listen  awhile, — 
Me,  so  unworthy  and  weary  a  guest ; 

Let  me  repose  in  the  warmth  of  your  smile, 

"  Till  I  shall  melt  into  teardrops  of  song, 
Dropping  contrite  on  the  ear  of  my  King  ; 

Till  I  shall  rise  up,  immortal  and  strong, 

And  bring  something  meet  for  the  blessed  to 
sing." 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

TOLL!  toll!  toll! 
How  it  strikes  on  the  nation's  soul! 
Farewell!  farewell!  farewell! 
Says  the  solemn  chapel-bell, 
In  the  olden  town, 
To  the  poet  of  happy  renown. 

14 


JAMES    RUSSELL    LOWELL 

Farewell!  farewell!  farewell! 

The  people  re-echo  the  knell. 

All  eyes  do  fill, 

And  the  quickening  pulses  thrill, 

Each  gentle  heart 

So  cherished  his  master-art. 

His  honest  speech 

Could  the  plainest  countryman  reach  ; 

And,  when  he  sung 

In  the  downright  Yankee  tongue, 

They  listened,  to  hear 

The  things  that  were  good  for  their  ear. 

The  nations  afar 

Beheld  him  a  shining  star 

Of  a  steadfast  light, 

Through  all  of  our  darkest  night  ; 

And  they  heard  him  say, 

"  Fear  not  for  the  coming  day!  " 

Faithful  and  true 

To  the  Old  World  and  the  New, 

He  finished  his  days, 

With  the  noble  patriot  ways, 

In  the  home  of  his  sires, 

Till  they  flickered, —  his  ancient  fires. 

Then  he  gave  up  his  breath 
To  the  gentle  conqueror,  Death. 

15 


JAMES    RUSSELL    LOWELL 

We  see  through  our  tears 
His  immortal,  his  radiant  years, 
His  blessed  release  ; 

And  the  voice  of  the  land  says  :   "  Peace! 
Cease,  bells,  to  toll, 
And  chime  for  a  risen  soul, — 
A  risen  soul!  " 


SLEEPY  HOLLOW. 

THEY  bore  him  up  the  aisle, 
His  white   hands  folded   meekly  on   his 

breast : 
He  had  the  very  smile 

He  wore  the  night  he  gently  sank  to  rest. 

The  words  of  love  were  said, 

We  prayed  and  sang  together :  all  was  done  ; 
And  then  the  way  they  led 

Along  the  street,  the  people  following  on. 

They  reached  the  place  of  sleep 

Just  as  the  holy  day  of  spring  was  closing  : 
His  form  it  now  must  keep, 

Beside  his  kindred  and  his  friends  reposing. 

The  watching  hills  looked  kind 
Upon  our  father  in  his  lowly  bed  : 

The  sun  went  down  behind, 

And  pensive  evening  glory  on  him  shed. 

16 


SLEEPY    HOLLOW 

We  covered  him  with  green, — 

He  loved  the  hemlock  branches  and  the  pine. 
And  there  he  lay,  serene, 

And  yet  not  he,  not  there  the  spark  divine. 

His  spirit  was  afar, 

Shining  benignant  in  refulgent  light, 
Like  some  new  awakened  star 

Ascending  sweetly  to  its  native  height. 

But  will  he  go  away, 

To  leave  us  in  our  earthly  doubt  and  pain  ? 
Has  he  not  found  the  day, 

To  bring  its  secrets  to  the  world  again  ? 

Be  thou  not  over-sad, 

Dear,  ancient  town,  in  thy  affliction  sore  ; 
Think  that  what  thou  hast  had 

Is  thine  to  keep  and  give  for  evermore. 


EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL. 

•CLUTTERING  soul, 
*        So  near  the  heart  of  God, 
And  yet  so  faint  and  chill, 
Upon  this  cold  earth's  sod. 

Lying  with  broken  wing, 
Dragging  thyself  along, 

To  reach  the  immortal  spring, 
And  break  forth  into  song. 

17 


EDWARD    ROWLAND    SILL 

Poet,  thou  hast  arisen  ; 

Spirit,  thou  now  art  free  ; 
Loosed  from  thine  earthly  prison, 

To  find  Eternity. 


ANNA  CABOT  LOWELL. 

BELOVED  lady  of  the  olden  days, 
Yet  dwelling  young  and  happy  in  the  new, 
Serene  and  gracious  in  her  looks  and  ways, 
So  gentle  in  her  judgments,  and  so  true. 

Who  ever  loved  her  friends  so  long  and  well, 
And  cherished  them  so  deeply  in  her  heart  ? 

While  each  new  generation  rose  to  tell 
How  they  became  of  her  dear  life  a  part. 

She  scattered  blessings  wheresoe'er  she  went. 

The  lonely  suppliant  found  her  willing  ear. 
Her  generous  nature  had  supreme  content 

To  share  with  others  her  possessions  here. 

She  knew  the  world  of  pleasure  from  her  youth, 
And  yet  she  kept  her  spirit  undefiled. 

Enriched  with  love  of  poetry  and  truth, 
She  was  as  modest  as  a  little  child. 

But,  most  of  all,  her  pure  and  reverent  soul 
In  paths  of  prayer  and  consecration  trod. 

So,  when  the  pains  of  age  upon  her  stole, 
She  rested  in  the  perfect  peace  of  God. 

18 


JOHN  S.  DWIGHT. 

THE  master  lay  among  his  friends  ; 
And  words  of  hope  and  solemn  cheer, 
Leading  the  thought  to  life's  great  ends, 
Were  uttered  there  above  his  bier. 

Music,  divinest  comforter, 

Failed  not  to  bring  her  answering  chord  ; 
While  Luther's  courage  spoke  in  her, 

And  Mendelssohn's  "  Rest  in  the  Lord." 

And  Poesy,  on  happy  wing, 
Soared  to  the  gates  of  Paradise, 

To  hear  his  ransomed  spirit  sing, 
Bathed  in  the  ether  of  the  skies. 

All  round  were  books  of  mellow  chime, 

The  symbols  of  sublimest  art 
Caught  on  their  pages  for  all  time, 

Of  which  his  being  was  a  part. 

The  records  of  the  ancient  fire 

That  burned  in  the  composer's  soul, 

And  rose  to  flames  of  high  desire, 
To  melt  in  one  harmonious  whole. 

And  so  he  spent  his  tranquil  days 

In  beauty's  presence,  and  with  truth, 

Unmindful  of  our  newer  ways, 
And  dwelling  in  immortal  youth. 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING. 

TT E  looked  with  awe  on  his  Creator's  face, 
•*•  •*      Upon    the  smiling   plain    and  field    and 

wood  ; 

He  looked  upon  this  earthly  dwelling-place 
With  solemn  joy,  and  saw  that  it  was  good. 

And  first  he  followed,  reverent,  in  the  light 
Of  the  divinest  Son  of  Man  we  know, 

Who  ever  loved  to  say  and  do  the  right, 

And  pleased  his  Father  while  he  lived  below. 

And  then  he  went  forth  mightily  to  grasp 

The    'wildered    traveller,    lost    to   faith   and 
trust, 

To  free  him  from  the  iron  creeds  that  clasp 
And  bind  the  spirit  to  the  things  of  dust. 

His  brother  rose  up  trembling  from  the  ground, 
And  truth  came  on  him  like  a  flood  of  day. 

He  heard  that  thrilling  voice  of  music  sound, 
And,  leaping  joyful,  went  upon  his  way. 

The  flush  of  pain  was  deepening  on  his  cheek, 
And  yet  he  tarried  in  the  harvest  field  ; 

And,  with  a  sovereign  will  divinely  meek, 
He  made  the  body  to  the  spirit  yield. 

But,  as  he  stepped  upon  the  opening  path 
Of  beckoning  age,  the  ills  of  flesh  and  time 

Began  to  vanish  from  his  aftermath, 

And  left  him  calm  and  happy  and  sublime. 


WILLIAM     ELLERY    CHANNING 

And  when  at  last  his  Maker  said,  "  Forbear!  " 
His  toil  and  rest  had  so  serenely  blent 

He  cared  not  if  his  work  were  here  or  there, 
And  so  he  took  his  Master's  hand,  and  went. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

T  TE  is  gone!     They  have  laid  him  away! 
•*•  •*•      Laid  him  away?     Tis  not  he  ! 
Who  could  imprison  a  ray 
Of  light  and  of  love  so  free  ? 

Like  an  eagle  that  mounts  to  the  sky, 
With  his  gaze  on  the  radiant  sun, 

He  soared  to  the  kingdom  on  high 
At  the  word  of  the  Infinite  One. 

Swift  was  the  summons,  and  short, — 
His  work  was  still  in  his  hand  ; 

His  time  and  his  strength  and  his  thought 
Were  lavished  at  duty's  command. 

How  he  loved,  how  he  loved  us  all! 

The  rich  and  the  poor  were  the  same  : 
He  joyfully  rose  at  their  call, 

And  went  in  his  Master's  name. 

Now  he  hears  a  new  message  divine, — 
New  ever  to  men,  and  yet  old : 

"  Come  up  to  these  mansions  of  mine, 
And  feed  the  lambs  of  this  fold." 


PHILLIPS    BROOKS 


Happy,  most  happy  and  blest, 

The  Church  to  whom  it  was  given 

To  entertain  such  a  guest, 

And  offer  him,  spotless,  to  Heaven! 


JULIA  ROMANA  ANAGNOS. 

A  BEAUTIFUL,  effulgent  star  of  love 
Has  faded  quickly  from  our  earthly  sight  : 
'Tis  only  lost  within  the  blue  above, 
Where  it  is  mingling  with  celestial  light. 

How  roseate  was  the  bloom  upon  her  cheek! 

She  had  a  look  of  innocent  surprise, 
The  happy  freedom  of  the  ancient  Greek, 

The  dewy  morn  of  childhood  in  her  eyes. 

And  yet  the  Teuton  blended  in  her  make  : 
Her  nature  yearned  to  sound  the  depths  of 
thought  ; 

Her  eager,  searching  spirit,  all  awake, 
The  tender  mystery  of  being  sought. 

And  so  she  sat  down  with  a  loyal  heart, 

A  modest  learner  ever  at  the  feet 
Of  Science  and  Philosophy  and  Art, 

Yet  probing  ever  with  her  questions  meet. 

Till  she  forgot  that  there  was  time  or  space, 
Lost  in  her  vision  of  immortal  youth, 

And  all  the  world  she  held  in  her  embrace, 
And  all  the  universe  to  her  was  truth. 


JULIA    ROMANA    ANAGNOS 

And  now  she  dwells  among  the  glorified  ; 

But  we,  in  tears,  will  fondly  her  beseech 
To  come,  as  once  of  old,  and  here  preside, 

And  lessons  from  the  higher  kingdom  teach. 

So  shall  we  rise  above  the  jar  of  creeds, 

And  walk  with  her  in  regions  calm  and  still  ; 

So  may  she  stir  our  lives  to  nobler  deeds, 
And  lead  us  upward  to  the  higher  Will. 


TJ 
-*-' 


LUCY  STONE. 

EAUTIFUL  being,  with  heart  like  the  rose, 
Shedding  its  sweets  on  the  bright  summer 


Too  soon  her  beloved  her  tender  eyes  close, 
That  wore  so  much  peace  in  this  poor  world 
of  care. 

Her  voice  was  as  soft  as  the  breath  of  a  lyre, 
Pleading   her   cause  with   such   wisdom   and 

grace  ; 
And,  oh!    there  were  moments  it  leaped  into 

fire, 

As  she  thought  of  the  wrongs  of  her  sex  and 
her  race! 

Never  discouraged  and  never  afraid, 

She   faced    all    the    powers   unrighteous   and 

mean  ; 
Never  an  ungentle  word  she  said, 

But  held  herself  ever  composed  and  serene. 


LUCY    STONE 


The  Land  of  the  Promise  was  all  in  her  sight  : 
She  asked  not   to  step  on  the  plains  of  the 
free, 

Stretching  away  in  the  new-dawning  light, 
Happy  to  dream  of  the  joy  that's  to  be. 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  COLONEL  SHAW. 


"  D  URIED  with  his  negroes,  in  the  trench  !  " 
*•*     There  he  lies,  a  score  of  them  around 
him  : 

Nothing  could  his  deathless  ardor  quench. 
What  a  monument  at  last  has  crowned  him! 

There  he  fell,  that  youth  so  fair  and  bold  : 
Not  a  whit  ashamed  to  die  with  him,  — 

Him,  the  man  of  color,  bought  and  sold  ; 
Not  a  bit  ashamed  to  lie  with  him! 

Sight  to  make  a  father's  bosom  throb, 

Now  he  stands  upon  the  canvas  glowing  ; 

Sight  to  make  a  noble  mother  sob, 

Tender  eyes  their  glances  on  her  throwing. 

There  he  stands,  so  soldier-like  and  mute, 
Modest,  and  yet  looking  in  our  faces 

Undisturbed  and  calmly,  as  doth  suit 

One    who    never    sought    the    world's    high 
places. 

24 


THE    PORTRAIT    OF    COLONEL    SHAW 

Look  upon  him,  nation  of  the  free! 

Surely,  this  shall  cure  thee  of  thy  meanness. 
Look  upon  him,  nation  that's  to  be, 

Rising  purified  from  thy  uncleanness! 

Thou  shalt  brighten  as  the  years  go  by, 
Brave  young  hero  to  thy  country  given  : 

With  thy  little  company  on  high 

Thou  shalt  traverse  all  the  plains  of  heaven. 


LUCY  LARCOM. 

T^AREWELL,  benignant  spirit,  wise  and  good, 
*•        Beloved  singer  for  all  womanhood! 
A  softened  brightness  from  the  day 
With  thee  has  passed  away. 

Many  have  loved  thee,  since  thy  earnest  eye 
At  early  morn  of  girlhood  looked  on  high, 
Seeking  to  consecrate  thy  youth 
To  beauty  and  to  truth. 

The  cold,  dull  actual  beset  thee  round  : 
Oft-times   thou   couldst   not    hear  a   voice   n< 

sound, 

To  break  the  clouds  of  earthiness 
And  heal  the  world's  distress. 

Yet  thou  didst  cling  to  thine  ideal  sweet, 
And  soon  it  opened  on  thy  gaze  complete, 
Until  thou  saw'st  thy  true  career, 
Thy  happy  poet-sphere, — 


LUCY    LARCOM 

To  raise  thy  toiling  sisters  on  the  earth 
To  heavenly  places,  fitting  their  high  birth, 
And  bring  each  young  and  throbbing  soul, 
To  wisdom's  mild  control. 

And  most  of  all  we  love  thee  for  the  heart 
That  dwelt  with  God  and  his  dear  Son  apart, 
And  toned  thy  verse  with  sacred  awe, 
Before  the  Sovereign  Law, 

And  sweetened  it  with  an  undying  trust, 
Consoling  us,  poor  children  of  the  dust, 
And  gently  showing  tear-dimmed  eyes 
Visions  beyond  the  skies. 


CHARLES  T.  BROOKS. 

How  soft  and  fair 
The  light  fell  on  his  silver  hair! 
Meekly  he  bent  him  to  the  blast  ; 
And,  when  the  storms  of  life  were  past 
And  the  sweet  sun  came  forth  to  view, 
He  raised  his  tear-dimmed  eye  anew, 
And  saw  the  glory  of  the  sky  : 
He  heard  the  voice  of  poesy, 
And  all  his  pains  were  soothed  to  rest 
On  Nature's  breast. 

In  joyous  love, 
He  communed  with  his  God  above. 

26 


CHARLES    T.    BROOKS 

He  waited  not  the  critics'  leave, 
Whene'er  he  read  the  ancient  Word, 
Nor  asked  them  what  he  should  receive 
His  swift-discerning  soul  was  stirred 
With  gales  that  swept  the  chaff  in  heat, 
And  filled  his  garner  with  the  wheat. 
And  yet  he  was  a  scholar  there 
And  everywhere. 

His  curious  thought 
The  poet's  subtle  measures  caught. 
He  loved  to  take  the  veil  away 
That  shrouded  many  a  mystic  lay, 
And  show  the  charms  of  other  speech, 
Its  tender  cadences  to  reach, 
And  mould  them  with  his  gentle  art, 
To  waken  echoes  in  the  heart 
Of  other  scenes  and  days  and  climes 

In  far-off  rhymes. 

Lightsome  and  free, 
He  roamed  that  city  of  the  sea, 
The  places  where  our  Channing  grew, 
The  pulsing  of  whose  heart  he  knew, 
Blending  the  simple,  olden  ways 
With  all  the  wealth  of  growing  days. 
What  memories  in  his  bosom  dwelt, 
Of  all  he  saw  and  all  he  felt, — 
Treasures  he  now  forever  keeps, 

In  heaven's  own  deeps! 


CHARLES    T.    BROOKS 

Church  of  our  sires, 
Church  of  our  hope  and  strong  desires, 
What  power  shall  we  yet  attain 
To  match  these  souls  across  the  main, 
Who  carry  with  them  all  the  grace 
And  charm  from  this  poor  dwelling-place  ? 
In  our  high  temples,  how  they  fall! 
Can  we  restore  our  Zion's  wall, 
Whose  corner-stones  were  rich  and  fair 

Beyond  compare  ? 


LUCRETIA  CROCKER. 

/^\  BEAUTIFUL  and  noble  womanhood, 
^^      Moving  serenely  in  this  world  of  wrong! 
Her  saintly  presence  drew  us  to  the  good, 
Her  utterance  ever  made  the  right  so  strong. 

Like  the  Madonna  of  the  ancient  days, 
Angelic  meekness  dwelt  upon  her  face, 

Blent  with  a  dignity  in  all  her  ways, 

Commanding  gently,  with  a  high-born  grace. 

She  met  with  women  oft  in  calm  debate 

How  best  to  train  the  dawning  soul  of  youth  ; 

She  sat  with  men  in  councils  of  the  State, 
And  awed  the  wrangler  with  her  voice  of 
truth. 

There  was  a  music  in  her  very  tone, 
A  kindly  graciousness  in  all  she  said  ; 

28 


LUCRETIA    CROCKER 

A  mellow  light  upon  her  pathway  shone  ; 
There  was  an  aureole  around  her  head. 

Farewell!  farewell!      God  has  promoted  thee, 
Immortal  teacher,  to  his  schools  above  ; 

And  there  a  leading  spirit  thou  shalt  be, 
Proving  thy  teachings  of  eternal  love. 


JAMES  WALKER. 

OERENE  old  man,  God  called  him  unto  heaven. 
^      His    life  of  noble  work    and    thought    is 

done. 

To  him  the  joy  of  that  new  clime  is  given 
Where  rest  and  labor  gently  blend  in  one. 

The  two  so  sweetly  are  united  there 

That,  when  he  works,  he'll  think  that  it  is 

rest  ; 
And,  when  he  rests  in  that  exultant  air, 

He'll  find  repose  is  highest  action  blest. 

How  good  for  him  that  he  has  slipped  away 
From  that  tired  body,  weary  of  its  pain, 

To  hold  a  sovereign  spirit  in  the  clay 

Waxing  in  brightness,  as  the  senses  wane! 

And  yet  he  loved  the  earth  ;  for  long  and  well 
It  held  him  in  a  genial,  kind  embrace. 

And  friends  were  grouped  around,  who  oft  will 

tell 
How  reverently  they  gazed  up  in  his  face, 

29 


JAMES    WALKER 

Even  as  the  pupils  of  the  Grecian  Seer, 

Who  drank  the  wisdom  of  his  daily  speech  : 

Only  this  master  was  to  us  more  dear  ; 
A  fairer  mark  he  gave  for  us  to  reach, 

Because  he  drew  his  wisdom  from  the  fount 
That  welled  up  in  the  Man  of  Galilee. 

And  now  his  risen  soul  shall  ever  mount, 

To  find  with    him    the  truth   that  makes  us 
free. 

WILLIAM  HENRY  CHANNING. 

A  SPIRIT  shining  in  the  light  of  God, 
With  all  the    glow   of  heaven  upon   its 

wings, 

Has  left  the  earthly  dwelling  where  it  trod, 
And  in  the  higher  kingdom  soars  and  sings. 

Men  say  that  saints  are  God-intoxicate  : 
So  we  might  say  of  him,  who  ever  sought 

To  tell  it  early  and  to  tell  it  late, 

How  God  is  fairer  than  the  fairest  thought. 

But  most  of  all,  when  he  was  worn  and  faint 
Or  weary  with  the  discord  of  the  age, 

The  bigot's  clamor  and  the  weak  man's  plaint, 
The  chilly  doubting  of  the  sceptic's  page, 

He  loved  to  speak  of  the  beloved  Son, 
Even  like  the  mild  apostle  John  of  old, 

And  pray  that  his  disciples  might  be  one, 
Like  little  children  gathered  to  his  fold. 

30 


WILLIAM     HENRY    CHANNING 

Farewell,  thou  sharer  of  a  noble  name, 

Which  thou  didst  humbly  take  from  nature's 
hand, 

And  bear  it  onward  to  a  gentler  fame, 

Born  to  inspire  the  world,  if  not  command ! 


MARY  FOOTE. 

HpHEY  bore  her  up  the  ancient  aisle  ; 

•*•        She  lay  within  a  flowery  bed  ; 
It  seemed  as  if  we  saw  her  smile, 
And  lift  again  her  fair  young  head, 

And  say  in  pleasant  words,  "  How  sweet 

The  roses  and  the  lilies  are! 
But,  oh,  my  rest  is  so  complete, 

I  see  the  flowers  of  heaven  afar  ; 

"I  see  the  children  gather  them, 

And  lay  them  in  the  Master's  hand  ; 

The  weary  touch  his  garment's  hem, 
And  join  the  strong  immortal  band." 

The  minister  with  solemn  tone 
Repeats  the  service  of  the  place, 

And  tells  us  how  the  maid  had  grown 
In  daily  wisdom  and  in  grace. 

The  gold  and  crimson  light  of  day 
Mellows  the  tablets  all  around  ; 

Softly  the  organ  notes  they  play, 

And  prayer  and  chanting  voices  sound. 

31 


MARY    FOOTE 

The  apostles  at  the  chancel  side 
Reflect  the  Saviour's  glory  bright  ; 

And  we  remember  how  he  died, 
Only  to  rise  again  in  light. 

So  shall  this  beauteous  flower  of  love, 
This  dear  young  girl,  in  joy  arise 

To  bloom  in  radiance  above, 
Among  the  fields  of  paradise. 


IN  MEMORIAM. 

M.  B.  C. 

O  EAUTIFUL  young  mother,  with  her  hands  upon 

her  breast, 

How  peaceful  is  her  rest! 
For  all  the  costly  sacrifice,  the  sorrow,  and  the 

pain, 
Diviner  is  her  gain. 

And    yet    we    cannot    see    it,    cannot    see    it 

through  our  tears, 
As  we  look  adown  the  years, 
And  think  of  this  bright  being,  with  the  laugh 
ter  on  her  face, 
And  see  her  vacant  place. 

For  life  had   grown  more  fair  and  precious  to 

our  gentle  friend  ; 
And  wherefore  should  it  end  ? 

31 


IN    MEMORIAM 

The   Father   gave   the   richest   of  his   blessings 

from  above, — 
The  husband  of  her  love. 

And  then  he  sent  another  gift,  of  her  own  life 

a  part, — 

The  child  upon  her  heart. 
And  so  her  cup  of  earthly  joy  was  very  full  and 

sweet, 
Her  happiness  complete. 

Yet  she  must  leave  it  all  at  this  exultant  hour, 

and  go  ; 

For  God  will  have  it  so. 
But  who  can  tell  the  secrets  of  his  tender  love 

and  care 
For  our  dear  sleeper  there  ? 

He'll   waken  her  to  fresher  life,  with  radiant 

surprise, 

His  light  upon  her  eyes ; 
And    Christ   will    show   her,    in   the   mansions 

beautiful  and  new, 
Some  happy  work  to  do. 

And  they  will  let  her  often  be  a  smiling  angel 

near 

To  watch  her  loved  ones  here, 
And   lead   them  softly  onward  with  a  gentle, 

guiding  hand, 
To  find  the  morning  land. 


33 


ABBY  W.  MAY. 

C*OFT  were  the  tones  of  her  voice,  and  earnest 

^     and  strong  was  her  plea, 

As  she  stood  in  her  place,  to  awaken  the  bond 
and  the  free. 

She  labored  from  morning  till  night,  she  lav 
ished  her  strength, 

And  her  heart  is  at  rest:  it  has  stopped  its  beat 
ing  at  length. 

How  oft  when  the  war  was  scorching  the  land 
with  its  fire, 

She  summoned  the  high  and  the  low,  with  ve 
hement  desire 

To  bury  forever  the  lines  that  divided  the  past, 

And  assuage  the  wounds  of  the  men  who  were 
bleeding  and  dying  so  fast! 

When  beautiful  Peace  came  anear,  and  beck 
oned  with  radiant  smile 

To  charm  the  heart  of  the  North  and  sweetly 
beguile, 

She  asked  not  for  joy  nor  for  rest;  and  her 
money  she  gave, 

And  her  ease,  for  the  man  who  was  homeless 
and  once  was  a  slave. 

At  last  she  arose,  and  she  reached  out  a  sisterly 

hand 
To   raise   up    the   down-trodden    women    who 

dwelt  in  the  land. 


34 


ABBY    W.    MAY 

She  asked  for  the  right  that  belongs  to  the  home 

of  the  free, — 
To  be  free  in  the  Church  and  the  State,  as  our 

Master  would  have  us  to  be. 

And  many  they  were,  the  defeats  and  the  crosses 

she  patiently  bore; 
But  her  spirit   rebounded  exultant,    again    and 

again,  as  before. 
And  now   she  is  sleeping  with  God,   for    she 

needed  her  rest. 
We  bow  to  his  fatherly  will ;  and  we  say,  It  is 

best! 


CHARLES  LOWE  DAMRELL. 

A    FAIR  white  soul  has  passed  away  from  sight, 
•^*-     Sweet    as    the   gentle    breath  of  coming 

June; 

A  smiling  presence  ever  warm  and  bright, 
That  put  our  spirits  into  happy  tune. 

Heaven  lay  about  him  from  his  early  youth, 
When  first  he  took  on  him  a  weight  of  care, 

And  gave  himself  to  duty  and  to  truth, 
Accepting  then  the  burden  he  must  bear  : 

To  lift  a  mother  from  the  ills  of  life 
And  place  her  haply  in  serener  air, 

Above  the  troubles  of  the  world  and  strife, 
And  cherish  her  with  fond  endearments  there. 


35 


CHARLES    LOWE    DAMRELL 

He  minds  me  of  another  one  who  came 

And   dwelt  on  earth  and  sweetened  all  our 
days, — 

A  royal  soul  who  bore  his  very  name, 

And  wore  his  beauty  in  his  looks  and  ways. 

Dwelling  within  the  kingdom  of  his  books, 
He  served   the   young   and   old  with   genial 

mood, 
And  in  the  sanctum  of  his  quiet  nooks 

He  made  acquaintance  with    the   great   and 
good. 

He  loved  his  church,  where  friends  and  neigh 
bors  meet, 

And  laid  his  generous  offerings  freely  there  ; 
And  every  Sunday  saw  him  in  his  seat, 

Bowing  his  head  in  happy,  grateful  prayer. 


WHITTIER. 

F)OET  of  youth  and  hope  and  larger  life, 

•*•       Not  once  when  men  were  fainting  by  the 

way, 

Or  cowards  trembling  for  the  dawn  of  day, 
Didst  thou  go  backward  in  the  hour  of  strife. 
Thy  warning  voice  cut  deeply,  like  a  knife, 
Through  all    the    nation's  wrong,   to  make    it 
clean  ; 

36 


WHITTIER 

Then  wept  thy  lyre  to  see  a  land  so  base, 
Bartering  the  child,  the  husband,  and  the  wife. 
When   thou   hadst   done   thy   painful    work   so 

well, 

Then  thou  didst  turn  aside  in  gentler  mood, 
And  tales  of  thy  sweet  hills  and  valleys  tell, 
Until  the  people's  laurels  on  thee  fell. 
Prophet  and  Poet,  thou  art  understood! 


CHARLES  LOWE. 

T>ELOVED  one,  thou  hast  been  long  away, 
-*-*      And  yet  thy  face  is  just  as  clear  to  me 
As  once  upon  that  gentle  summer  day, 

When  thou  didst  say  farewell,  and  cross  the 

sea. 
The  tender  green  was  deepening  on  the  tree, 

The  rose  was  blushing  on  the  cheek  of  June, 

The  world  of  light  and  beauty  was  in  tune  ; 
But  thou  no  more  a  part  of  it  couldst  be. 
Yet  I  had  messages  from  thee,  and  sweet 

Assurance  that  thy  heart  was  full  of  love 
For  me  and   mine,    and  all   whom    thou   didst 
greet 

On  earth  below  and  in  thy  home  above. 
So  I  am  satisfied  to  wait  for  thee 
Until  the  will  of  God  shall  let  us  meet. 

37 


MARY  WHITE  FOOTE. 

/~V  FRIEND,  I  feel  thy  watch  of  love  unsleeping. 
^-^      Sweet  soul,  too  sacred  in  thy  blessedness, 

To  tarry  midst  our  sins  and  our  distress, 
Sing  on  in  glory,  and  forget  our  weeping! 
The  world  is  dull  and  low,  it  moved  along 

And  touched  thy  garment's  hem,  but  never 
knew, 

How  virtue  went  from  out  thee,  save  a  few, 
Who  marvelled  at  thy  spirit  sweet  and  strong. 
Walk  on  in  light,  and  raptured  bliss  and  prayer, 

Think  not  of  us,  for  we  are  poor  and  mean, 

We  will  not  break  upon  thy  peace  serene, 
Nor  touch  the  heavenly  robe  which  thou  dost 

wear. 

Turn  thou  thy  gaze  away,  it  is  not  meet 
To  keep  thee  from  thy  cherished  Master's  feet! 


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